


A Ghost to Most

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Adultery, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Hornblower has a wife, but Bush is the only one who sees her.





	A Ghost to Most

There are skeletons at night. Not ghosts, because those are silent. He sees and hears the rattling of bones, the break and crash of death. He keeps looking, expecting to see Sawyer or Kennedy, but instead it is nameless and faceless hauntings. Men he’s killed. Men he’s seen die. He thinks they should matter more than they do.

“You’re very silent this morning, Mr. Bush.”

He looks up from the table, struggling to keep his frown from his face. It is hard. There is no reason why Maria should be able to sneak up on him, no reason he should be caught by surprise, and yet she has and he is. She presses her fingers to the lid of the teapot and pours more in his cup. The leaves swirl violently in the hot water, and he expects it to storm in the mug. Tempest in a teacup.

“My apologies, Mrs. Hornblower.”

“I’m used to silence.”

Bush remembers that he heard of her mother passing not long after the children did. He wonders what she hears in this ragged house. What the neighbors say. ‘Poor Mrs. Hornblower’, perhaps. Or maybe they pretend that she doesn’t exist, that the smoke from the fire and washing blowing in the breeze on the lawn is just an illusion.

He wonders if they even know that he’s here. He’s been seen in the company of Hornblower at the house and, looking at Maria, he knows that no one worries for her virtue. Not that she doesn’t have her own sort of beauty, but she disappears before other people, ceases to exist. A piece of furniture to be dodged around, a bit of wallpaper in sad tatters no one else seems to see, to acknowledge.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a guest.”

“You are Horatio’s brother-in-arms. You are not a guest, Mr. Bush.”

“By that account, you should call me by my given name.”

“And would you do the same in return?” 

Bush clears his throat and takes a sip of his tea rather than answer, which is answer enough. Maria smiles slightly and sits across from him, taking a sip of her own. It is a bitter tea, spared of sugar or cream. It is an inexpensive tea laced with nothing of cost. Much like the house and it’s furnishings. A house Hornblower would be ashamed of. Is ashamed of. Much like his wife. A life he wishes he did not live.

A life that Bush is loathe to admit he wishes for in the dark of night, whispers to his skeletons.

**

He has overstayed. He knows this. He knows it in his bones and in the way he imagines the neighbors look at him. He is not invisible as Maria is. However, as he watches her at the stove he restocked with wood, this is more a home to him than that with his three sisters. Here he can lie in his bed and close his eyes and imagine a life for himself.

A life. A wife. A home. A family. Things that, had he ever been asked, he would have denied a yearning for. He isn’t sure if it is this life he wants or simply that Maria makes this life easier, more palpable. 

“You have that look about you, Mr. Bush.”

He raises his eyes to her as she sets a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. It is sprinkled with cinnamon and thick with cream. He takes a spoonful and wonders how she has managed to discern exactly how he likes it. He closes his eyes and savors it for a moment and then looks at her again. “And what look is that?”

“:The same Horatio gets when the sea calls to him.” She laughs and it is, perhaps, even sadder than the sound of his skeletons. “The look Horatio always has.”

“”Why did you marry him?”

“You mean was my honor compromised?” She ducks her head as she shakes it. “No. Nothing so untoward as that. As much as everyone assumes me to be, I am not a fool. Horatio married me because it was the right thing to do. It was a way to save me from ruin. And I loved him..”

He notices the past tense of her phrase and is careful not to react or comment. They eat in silence, though he notices that her share of the food is smaller. She has been altering her dresses, repurposing them to a smaller size. “Do you need money? I realize that I am staying here, using your resources.”

“I know you disapproved. That you thought - think - I’m not fitting to be an officer’s wife. To be his wife. He is bound for great things, and I can only hinder him. I know he has other women. I know that I am a joke to him. A mistake he wishes he had never made. But this is our lot. Mine. You owe me nothing, Mr. Bush. And you needn’t stay in his stead. I doubt he would wish it on his most incapable midshipman, let alone his often second in command.”

“My concerns at the time were unfounded.”

Maria shakes her head. “I’d like to think I deserve better than a lie.” She gets to her feet and goes back into the kitchen to set her bowl in the sink. She scrubs at it and then rinses it, putting it aside to dry. “It would likely be best if you go.”

He’s surprised by his next words. “I don’t want to leave.” He clears his throat and stares down at his oatmeal, refusing to look at her. “I’ll allot money for helping with the house expenses. For food. I know I am not much in the way of company, but if you’ll have me.”

Maria doesn’t look at him, and her spine is straight with pride. It’s a long moment until she nods. “Of course.” Everything is quiet around them as if the world has ceased to breathe. “William.”

**

The sensation has been in his periphery for longer than he cares to admit. Longer than his stay here, longer than since Hornblower had suggested Bush come. But it is in the night, as always, that he realizes what he has done.

He has fallen in love with his Captain’s wife.

She has not called him William again, but somehow the thought of his name on her lips has haunted him since that morning. It is in his mind, moving in circles like a boat with only one oar. It hides when he looks for it, but at night he finds himself lying on his bed on his stomach, squeezing himself in an effort to not think, to not hear it again and again, to not imagine it said against his skin.

Shame does not stop him from finding his pleasure in it.

He has been there three months, and he knows Hornblower is, in theory, to be home soon. It should bring relief, but instead all Bush can think of is the way Hornblower reacts to Maria, the way she disappears in front of him too.

Bush hears, when he goes into town, that the ship has returned. He doesn’t tell Maria, but he prepares his things, ready to leave and offer them privacy, let them indulge in the desires of newlyweds. However, there is a knock at the door and a messenger, telling Maria the ship has been delayed another two weeks. The truth of it rushes at Bush like a rogue wave in a mirror-like sea.

She stares at the notice with a fragile smile on her face. At that moment, Bush knows she knows the ship is in dock. Knows she knows that Hornblower has returned, but for now, he is not returning to her. 

“You were planning to go,” Maria says, a thickness to her voice that she’s trying to hide. She is sad and resigned. “You needn’t stay until he returns. Just a few short weeks. I have nothing to fear. Even when I’m all alone. I have little worth stealing and there are women who are far more worthy than I than I to be the object of lust.” Not resigned, Bush realizes. Defeated. “Horatio doesn’t worry. And if my dear husband does not, there’s no reason for others to.”

“I would stay if you will have me.”

“Mr. Bush-”

He steps forward, far too close. He brazenly presses the palm of his hand to her cheek and holds her gaze with his own. “If you’ll have me.”

“Horatio could come home at any moment.”

His thumb sweeps across her lips. “As much as, for you, I wish that were true, we both know it is not. I would not call him a fool, but he is ambitious.”

She drops her head and nods, but does not move away from his touch. He sees her lashes fall to her reddened cheeks and wonders if it is in desire or disappointment. “Mrs. Hornblower.” He clears his throat. “Maria.”

She looks up, blinking at him. Her eyes are shiny with tears, but her tongue darts out to lick her lips. He watches the motion with something - desire, he knows it is desire - roiling through him. “We can’t. We mustn’t.”

“I know. It is wrong. It is a betrayal of a husband, of a captain.” He steps closer, thumb sweeping her lips again. They are damp from her tongue, and he wonders if anywhere else on her is damp. If she is sweating like he is under his jacket, if she is feeling desire. He can feel the pressure of his cock against his britches, and by god he wants her. “Maria.”

She shakes her head. “Wi-William.”

His lips find hers, and she tastes as sweet as cream and as hot as the sun that beats down on the ship. His hand slips into her hair, not caring as pins fall to the floor when his fingers tangle in it. She shivers against him, and he has to wonder how long it’s been since she’s been touched in this way: with hunger, with desire, with raw and desperate need.

His free hand presses to the small of her back and pulls her closer. His leg presses against her skirts and he groans. “I need to take you in a bed. I need to be able to touch and feel all of you. Please. I beg of you.”

Her cheeks are flushed red, her lips burn him like a brand when they kiss again. He is branded. He knows she is the only lust, the only love he’ll know in this lifetime. She steps away and he groans, desperate for the feel of her again. She swallows hard and doesn’t look at him as she takes his hand. He expects her to lead him to his room, but instead she takes him to hers, her marriage bed.

Bush pulls her in again, backing her toward the bed as he kisses her. She gives so much in her kiss, standing against his onslaught as he unbuttons her dress. She is shaking as he exposes her breasts, the delicate skin in view as he pushes her shift off her shoulders She gasps at the sudden cold and then again at the heat of his mouth. Her nipples are tight against his tongue and her fingers dig into his shoulders. She mewls as he suckles one then moves to the other. 

His mind flickers on the loss of her children and he pulls back from her breasts, kissing a path down as he guides her dress off of her. It is a simple house dress, and it is easy to strip her to nothing. He’s on his knees in front of her, her skirts billowed around him as he worships her skin with kisses and licks, touches and tastes. 

She stutters his name and he puts his hands on her hips to guide her onto the bed, sitting at the edge as he moves between her legs, as he slides his hands beneath her thighs and pulls her closer, as he presses his mouth to the heat there. The forbidden wetness on his tongue wrenches a groan from him and he tries to pull her closer still, tries to take the hot, liquid taste of her. 

Her hands are like claws on his shoulders and when he glances up, she is watching him. He pulls back just a little and allows her to see his tongue as it slides against her, as he licks from the well of her passion to the hard nub of her pleasure. She cries out and her head falls back, her blush spreading down her skin. 

His mouth stays on her as he takes his hands away, working his clothes off. He fumbles with buttons, shaking and unsure. Maria’s hands fall behind her and she arches, a silent plea for his tongue. Bush doesn’t hesitate, burying his tongue inside her, flicking the end of it against her silken flesh. He thinks like a poet for her, and treats her like a goddess.

She cries out softly when he pulls away. He knows he should wipe his face, but her lips are bitten and swollen, parted and he cannot help but kiss her. Her tongue and the taste of her on his lips and he guides her back on the bed, stripping himself of his britches and underclothes, shoving them down hastily as he moves up the bed, moves on top of her.

Bending his head, he kisses her breasts again, his teeth gently grazing her nipples. She whimpers and her hips roll up. “Please, William. Please.”

His name on her lips makes him shiver and he reaches down to guide himself inside her. She is heat. She is everything. She burns him up. “Maria. Maria.” He chants her name like a prayer as he braces himself above her, as he thrusts forward, as he pulls back. It is a litany, a rosary. “Maria.”

“William.” She touches his face and he leans in, a kiss that shakes him to the core. He moves faster, deeper. He sparks and ignites, deepening the kiss and his strokes. “My William.”

She ends him with those words, and he spills inside her. He holds her close and keeps thrusting. He cannot leave her. He cannot bear the thought of life anywhere but here with her, with this. He knows the sea will call, but in this moment, the sea is a faded memory and the waves of Maria coming and clenching around him are the only ones he can hear and feel and see.

He’s spent, but his arms still hold him above her, his elbows bracketing her face. “I am yours. And you are mine.” He speaks words that he never thought he’d say. He has never had a desire for a wife or family. But this, he realizes, he could live with forever, could give up everything for. 

She is staring at him with wide eyes, and the reality of what they’ve done crashes in on him. A different kind of wave pulling him under. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in unison. 

His lips move against hers as he speaks. “Do you wish me to leave?”

She shakes her head slightly and he brings a hand up, stroking the curve of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He feels her shiver beneath him, and he can’t help but roll his hips once again. 

“You would have me stay until his return?”

“We should… I have much to do today.”

“Of course. As do I.” He still doesn’t wish to leave her, wants to stay buried in the warmth of her around him. Instead he slips free of her, staring down at her body, splayed naked and wanton in front of him. “You had mentioned there were repairs needed on the roof?”

“You needn’t do that.” She grabs the sheet and pulls it over her, blocking her from Bush’s gaze. “Once Horatio is home there’ll be money for hire someone for the repairs.”

“I wish to help. Clearly it is prudent for me to fix the roof over my own head.” He does up his britches, keeping his eyes down despite the need to look at her, to see the mussed fall of her hair, the flush of her skin. 

“I cannot ask you for anything.”

“Maria.” He lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and touches her chin, bringing her eyes up to his. “You needn’t ask.”

**

He joins her at the table as the sun is setting. She lays out a simple stew and hard bread that soaks up the fatty gravy. He cannot take his eyes off her as he eats, and he’s not sure if the flush of her face is from his gaze or from the heat of cooking. They eat in silence save for the clink of the spoons against the bowls. When they finish, he stokes the fire as she does the few dishes. They sit together in front of the blaze, her knitting as he frowns down at the book he’s reading.

He’s not sure how much time goes by before she stands. He looks up as she moves to his chair, watching as she lays her hand on his shoulder. She smiles down at him, something shy and tentative. “Come to bed?”

He gets to his feet and follows her. Will follow her wherever she leads.

**

Bush is outside in the back of the house watching while Maria hangs the washing. The sky is a bright and brilliant blue, the sun beating down on damp sheets that swing in the breeze. He is telling her a story, some foolishness from when he was young. She laughs, and the sound is warmer than the sun. 

Even with the heat and the breeze, he wishes they were inside where he could touch her, kiss her. He craves her, takes her to bed at night, takes her again in the morning, and at least once more during the day. He goes to her and she comes to him, and they move together and go from something in pieces to something together and whole.

But he will take this. Will take the pretense of a life, of a wife, of a marriage. He will live in Hornblower’s shoes as long as he can. The thought is sobering, but not enough to keep him from returning Maria’s smile. One of the sheets slips from her grasp and slides from the line, the wind catching it and whipping it toward Bush. He stands up to grab it, but before he can, it is caught by another hand, long and thin with graceful fingers.

Horatio laughs and carries the sheet over to Maria. “I think you lost this, my dear.”

She nods and swallows. She smiles still, but it’s a different smile. Bush knows that she loves her husband, but he also knows that she loves him. “Hello, Horry.”

Hornblower’s smile tightens and he pats Maria on the shoulder. “Good to be home finally. Bush. How’ve you been?”

Bush clears his throat and nods. “Well. Yourself?”

“Ha-hm. Quite well. The sea, as you know.”

“Indeed.” He’s careful not to glance at Maria, but he can’t help but keep her in the corner of his eye. She hangs the clothes in silence, and the light that had shone so brightly has dimmed. “How long are you home for?”

“Not long. Not long. A week at most. You’re ready to sail with me, are you not?”

“Of course. I’d like nothing better.” He sees Maria’s shoulders hunch further. She grabs the empty basket and curtsies slightly. 

“You must be hungry. I’ll make some lunch.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Hornblower.” Horatio shakes his head and pats Maria on the shoulder again. “Mr. Bush and I shall go out and dine. He has been too long on the land.”

“Yes. Of course. How silly of me.” She manages a smile ast Bush. “Will you be staying on with us, Mr. Bush? Until you sail?”

“Quite right.” Horatio nods decisively. “No need for him to find elsewhere when there is a short time left in port. We’ll likely play cards late. Don’t wait up.”

“Goodnight, Horatio. Mr. Bush.”

Horatio wraps his arm around Bush’s shoulder and pulls him toward the door. Bush is careful not to look back. As it is, the thought of what he might see on Maria’s face is almost enough to cause him to shake Hornblower off and go back to Maria.

“Come, Bush.” Horatio guides them back into town. “I know the perfect place for a card game and other entertainment. No doubt you’ve had a rough three months. Hopefully she didn’t bore you with her constant chatter.”

“It was fine.”

“Fine is the most gracious thing one can say about my wife.” Horatio clears his throat as they walk, “Now. Come. A good game of Whist and we’ll have a decent night.”

**

Hornblower and Bush both get their orders days later, both of them needed to supervise the readying of the ship. Hornblower gives Maria a perfunctory kiss goodbye, his fingers lingering over her stomach as if he has done his husbandly duty and now expects her to do hers as wife. Maria offers him a small smile that lasts until he’s out the door. 

She turns her gaze to Bush and offers him a different smile, one of sadness and loss. He wonders if it’s because she knows she lost Hornblower long ago - if she had him at all - and she’s sure that this is an end for them as well. “Take care of him, won’t you, Mr. Bush?”

“Of course, Mrs. Hornblower.”

She leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, moving back before he can react, before it can become more. Her voice though is as low as a whisper between them. “Take care of the man I love.”


End file.
